Blood-soaked ground. Random bones left behind from the men who died on this hill.

Blood-soaked beams of wood and nails tossed aside, forgotten. Just as the men who they once held up are now forgotten.

No one wants to come here, yet I am drawn to this place.
Drawn by one man who once hung from one cross.
No crime of his own brought him here.
The people called for his death; the political leaders pardoned him.
The people called for his death; the governor ordered soldiers to flog him.
Not enough punishment for the people. They called for his death.
This man was innocent, yet this man did not fight for his own life.

One man. Two beams of wood. Three heavy nails.
Blood-soaked ground. Golgotha.

Crime meets punishment, but it was not his crime that brought him here.

Not his crime; not his punishment.

The people called for his death. He died for the people – the crimes of the people.